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Lone Caribou had gone into a trance; he was no longer able to hear the sounds of nature, nor any sound surrounding him. His body lay abandoned in the wilderness, people around him had vanished, and he was the only one in a world of cruelty, knowing nobody but his own self. It felt as a terrible nightmare to Lone Caribou. He was in a world where he could see and taste, but he heard nothing. He was a witness to the progress of the world. He lived what he had to live, he suffered actions and their consequences, but he had no strength to decide… He did what he was told to do; there was always somebody above, deciding and telling him what to do. Then, he heard the voices from his ancestors telling him to stay true to his own self. These voices were present in his head, he drew back to things he had heard once – he could hear the whistle of the wind, he heard the sound of water and the music produced by waves when they hit the stony borders of their kingdom. He could see these, but then they appeared all void of significance. It was dreadful, absolutely dreadful to the Indian who had always been taught to live in harmony with nature. “Mother Nature, what hast thou done?” he questioned himself. Did his relatives, the native nations all united, did his brethren abandon him? He was but one and he had to pay for all of them.
As the night eventually settled in darkness spread all around and the light of the flames was emphasized. A dark cover seemed to swallow the entire earth, leaving them at a loss amidst the mysteries of the wilderness. Some animals would hide away while others would come out of their shelters. Every sound produced by nature was suddenly heightened and stressed as though it had been forgotten during day time. When Lone Caribou slowly recovered from his bad dream, he eventually realized Mother Earth was still at his side. He mostly appreciated these moments. It felt to him as though Mother Earth had recovered all her perpetual strength again: while human beings were sleeping…
But then he heard sounds different from those sacred sounds of wilderness. Footsteps approached, he could hear rather than see someone getting closer. The Sergeant kneeled down beside Lone Caribou and built a fire. The heat of the fire was a pleasure to Lone Caribou, his body partly frozen. The officer sat back in front of the native and stared at him for a long while. Calmness and solitude overtook Lone Caribou again. The native wondered why the White man had come to his side, he wondered if this was truly real. But to confirm reality there was the fire, the heat which produced good effects on the poor one’s bones. The fire comforted him and appeased him. It was an element, such as water and earth and wind. Fire was a violent element, one nobody could cheat with. His whole body confirmed the truth of the presence of someone. At least there had been someone. Someone had built a fire and gone away. Had they all departed, in the dead of the night? Leaving him thus attached to a pillar, destined to die. Lone Caribou was destined to pass away as soon as the fire would have vanished. Dreamy, his head slowly glided towards the stony ground, his eyes fixed upon the burning pieces of wood. There was the heat; he could see it on these branches turning to ashes, hot red to become black as deathly powder.
Suddenly someone took off the rope of his hands: his body collapsed on the stony ground. Lone Caribou almost slipped into the fire. He would not care, his body was so frozen and so broke he resented nothing at all. Nearly unconscious he lay there, but at the sound of boots approaching he lifted his body to try and look at the person who set him free. The sounds of the steps were different, of a softer kind. He looked at him, light was scarce but the flames alighted partially the face of the man standing in front of him. The hunter bent down to look at the native “Don’t you look at me while I stand, thou needs time to recover,” his hands put the native in place again and the hunter would sit down at his side. The trapper had brought a bowl of soup, rests of the supper with a few dirty bones. Lone Caribou would eat his supper while the soldiers were snoring in their tents. The native was so thankful to the hunter. There they sat, side by side, staring into the fire. Lone Caribou truly realized he was much closer to the hunter than he had been to the soldiers but still there was a gap between them [...]
© 2016 Matt Oehler
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